Disparity
by Kira
Summary: challenge entry, dinner is interrupted by a phone call in the past; JI


**Disparity**   
SD-1 June Challenge Entry  
by Kira  
  
dis·par·i·ty   
n. pl. dis·par·i·ties   
The condition or fact of being unequal, as in age, rank, or degree; difference  
Unlikeness; incongruity.   
  
  
She really is a beautiful woman.  
  
You sit in the dimmed restaurant, the mangled blanket of conversation lying just over your shoulders. At your table, the silence is broken by a sudden onset of laughter, breaking you from you reflections. You raise your gaze from the people around you to face her, a smile across her plate. She motions to your forgotten meal.   
  
"Arvin, dear, where'd you go?" she asks of you. You smile ever so slightly, resting your chin on your hands. She blushes under your soft gaze, a bit self conscious as she runs a hand over her soft curls. For a moment, you wish they weren't there, that her hair was straight, beautiful, a darker color.   
  
Those are the thoughts for another man to think, to have.   
  
"Sorry, my dear," you say. "I was just admiring your beauty." And comparing her to someone else, but you don't tell her that. Instead, you smile and let your hands fall to the table only to retrieve your chopsticks. The food is a bit cold, colder than you remembered, and for a second, you wonder just how long you were out there, your thoughts wandering away from this place, this time.   
  
It has been happening for awhile. Your tolerance of these people, of these ideals slipping with each passing day, with each reminder of what you lost. Your mind wanders, wondering if this life that you've chosen for yourself is worth living – is there another out there better for you? More fitted to you?   
  
Your wife snatches a piece of sweet and sour chicken from your plate. She giggles as she brings it back to her mouth, smiling as she eats it. Her face turns, just a bit, but you notice it right away.   
  
"It's cold!" she exclaims. You nod, amazed by her youth and vitality, her kind and gentle spirit. She can always find the best in things, she never accepts the worst, and is a constant support in your life. You can't live without her. And yet, sometimes, you wish that you could, that you were.   
  
And you begin to resent her.   
  
The implications of resentment run through your mind and you know in your heart she doesn't deserve that. She was no second choice, no last resort. And you curse yourself for thinking such a thing of this wonderful woman you are to spend the rest of your life with. You remember someone telling you the first few years of a marriage are wonderful but that sometimes they are followed by doubt. If you can only get past that, those feelings, you can get through anything.   
  
You wonder if she has any doubt.   
  
She beings speaking, telling you about her day and a strange encounter, but you are both interrupted by the waiter. He stands as if unsure as to what to say.   
  
"What is it?" you ask, slightly irritated. He clears his throat, intimidated. You've always had that effect on those around you, something you make note of to use in the future.   
  
"You have a phone call, Mr. Sloane," he stutters out.   
  
"It's fine. Take it," your wife says, smiling. You nod to her, ever thankful for her tolerance. If only you had that degree of patience, life would not seem so futile at times. The waiter leads you to the front desk, where a man stands holding the receiver to the house phone. Angered by the interruption to your meal, you grab the phone from him and turn away. As you bring the phone to your ear you hear the scuffling of shoes on the old tile as they walk away, speaking in hushed Chinese as if you don't understand.   
  
You make a note not to give a gratuitous tip.   
  
"Hello?" you ask into the phone. All you hear is rushed, uneven breathing, the sound of rain hitting the outside of a phone booth. Curiosity causes you to stay on the line, waiting.   
  
"Arvin, there's… there's…" and he can't get the words out. Your eyes widen, fear squeezing your heart.   
  
"Jack? Jack, is that you?" you ask into the phone.   
  
"There was a car accident. Laura – she didn't, they can't fin – she didn't make it."  
  
The walls seem to close in on you, the voices all around fade to nothingness until all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing. Blood rushes through your ears, pounding as loud as deafening drumbeats against your mind.   
  
Gone.   
  
Your mind rushes through memories buried deep within your subconscious. Her sparkling smile, her beautiful hair, how it rushed over those strong shoulders. Her eyes. Oh God, her eyes were beautiful! And now you realize you will never see them again, never gaze upon them as only her husband should. The room becomes small, yet never dark. You won't loose all control.   
  
Across the restaurant, the sound of someone hitting the side of a wine glass catches your attention –   
  
"If I could have your attention."  
  
The sounds of the room die down, a few parents run to corral their children. The room is white and gold – regal and beautiful decorations adorn the corners where the walls meet the ceiling. In the crowd a woman sits alone, yet her eyes sparkle, shine with such emotion, such love.   
  
"Thank you. Now, we all know why we are here, and that is, of course, to see these two finally get together."  
  
Soft laughter runs through the crowd.   
  
"Jack, Laura, I never thought you'd get together. I had to practically bribe Jack to even say hello to you."  
  
Jack blushes, his head still high. He is a man with no shame, no embarrassment. But the blush creeps up his face slowly as his new wife turns to look at him, a wide smile on her face.   
  
"I'm sorry, Jack, but it's true. And look where it got you."  
  
The blush disappears as he takes Laura's hand. You pause, breath caught in your throat as she turns her gaze onto you. The feelings return, the apprehension, the denial. You didn't want to come here today, to stand at your best friend's side as he married that woman. You didn't want to stand here, speaking as if you were glad that they were now married. You wanted to be him. He had her, had the job, had it all.   
  
But a sound from your audience prompts you to remember that woman sitting out there waiting for you. She is your love now, and you are happy to be with her. Just keep repeating that to yourself and telling yourself that.   
  
"I am so happy for you," you manage to choke out. " I have never seen two people more meant for each other."   
  
The agreeance of the audience fills your ears – they all know it too. You stand there, smiling, gazing down at your wife, and for a second, you fit somewhere and you are content. Jack begins to say something yet his even, calm voice fades out of your hearing, morphs into a voice of panic and pain. You frown.   
  
"Arvin, I don't know what to do. I – "  
  
The phone!   
  
"Just calm down, Jack. Everything's going to be fine. Emily and I are on our way," you tell him. "Where are you?"   
  
"I'm, down here, oh, s***, I don't know where I am. There's a pier, I think, I think I'm – "  
  
"I know where you are. We'll be right there, don't worry," you reassure him. He hangs up without even a goodbye, a choked sob heard just before he hangs up the public phone. You move in slow motion, your eyes looking for the receiver. You hang up the phone and run an aged hand down your face, pushing away any tears that might come. You think of the last time you saw her, just days ago, as her young daughter ran around the yard as you spoke.   
  
She was beautiful then, the sun shining off her hair in all the right places. You spoke in a hushed tone, always on the look out for her husband.   
  
"Laura, I – "  
  
"I know, Arvin," she says right away, a laugh from her child turning her head. You shift your feet.   
  
"I just – "  
  
"There's nothing to say. That is over. We are over."  
  
You nod dumbly as she walks off into the yard, arms open wide as she scoops up her child. Jack stand off to the side, his eyes narrow, trying to figure out what was said. You look down into your hand, the simple object sitting in it now catching the sunlight her hair had once captured.   
  
You had no idea until now you had been clutching it in your hand. The imprint of the manufacturer's symbol is a dark red blotch on the inside of your palm that feels odd as you run the thumb of you other hand over it. A mark for life, the time an imprint she pressed on you that you can never be free of no matter how much you try to be free. You turn the object over in your hands, running your fingers over the smooth surface.   
  
You read the words slowly, the circle beneath the name. It was truly beautiful, a perfect birthday gift from her to you a year ago. When she had loved you.   
  
You loved her, and she pushed you away. She married your best friend and has the perfect life, the perfect family. Your sadness turns to anger, to hate. You decide that in the future, you must make him feel as you do now, alone, betrayed, your heart no longer whole.   
  
You stand in the restaurant for a moment before starting to make your way back to your wife. In a moment, your heart has been crushed, your youth lost, you've aged. An older you returns to her, her joyful expression dimmed as she sees your face. Oh! He wished more than anything it would return to cheer you up. To make you feel better. To heal you. Because she is all you have left now, all the joy in your life.   
  
You cannot live your life without her.   
  
And so you sit, to tell her of the love lost once before, and now lost again. Of Laura, who was never coming back, never calling on the phone or trading recipes for dinner. Of the woman who was your everything before you met your wife.   
  
Ironic, isn't it? And just before you sit, just before you tell her, you find yourself whispering to yourself.   
  
"She's gone. She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen."


End file.
